


A Hero for Him

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hinterlands Bandits, Iron Bull being Iron Bull, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Misunderstandings, Strong Capable Ladies, Taverns, Unrequited Crush, Varric Complains Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Inha Cadash wishes Varric would notice her. A celebratory night out provides an ample opportunity for Inha to not only impress Skyhold's biggest judge of character, but the people who need her help the most.





	A Hero for Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smolwarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolwarden/gifts).



Inha guessed she was covered in more blood than what was in her own body. The trouble with daggers was the potential of getting caught in the spray, and with a dragon this problem multiplied beyond belief. Today had been almost comical. She wiped her drenched face with a rag, just slightly grimacing at the smell. Only she and Bull had been coated in the precious slop, which some unlucky person would ring out of their clothes later, but Bull seemed perfectly happy with the situation, whipping up an air of excitement in the middle of camp.

“Ah, shit that felt _good_ ,” he roared. “We have to celebrate! There’s gotta be a tavern in these woods somewhere.” This exuberance was directly primarily at Vivienne, who perched primly at the edge of a stool nearby, clearing muck from her fine-heeled boot.  

“My dear, if you’re suggesting I traipse through the woods solely for the company of the locals, your enthusiasm is quite misplaced.”

“Your right, ma’am,” he said. “Boss, you up for it? Varric?”

Inha perked up at the question, looking for Varric’s reaction. “Yes, of course,” she enthused, knowing Varric couldn't resist a hole in the wall, and she couldn’t resist more time with Varric.

“Its my weakness,” he joked. “Nothing like a terrible tavern for inspiration.” He turned to her with warm eyes containing a twinkle of adventure. Was Varric _flirting_ with her? Inha blinked prettily in return, but by then he'd already turned away, slapping dust off his thighs as he stood. Maybe she was hallucinating, looking for signs that weren't there. Who knew what a dowsing of dragon’s blood really did to a person? So far they'd become decent companions. It seemed to suit Varric fine, but for her it wasnt enough. She'd envied his easy friendship with Hawke, but then, Inha wanted much more than friendship from the dwarf.

Regardless of what had or hadn't transpired between them, the three followed Lace Harding out of Dusklight camp to the middle of the Hinterlands, which was practically nowhere. Inha enjoyed the journey through the thick forest. Tall trees swayed and creaked in a gentle wind, leaves scattering to the floor, but she felt protected in their shelter. Inha was a surfacer, but wondered if perhaps this was what dwarves below the earth felt all the time, covered by all that stone. Varric shared none of her good associations with nature; his constant complaints about the creaky trees and dripping leaves bounced off her like all flaws do when you're enamored. Bull and Lace snickered ahead.

“How much farther is this place?” Varric asked. It was only his third inquiry.

"We're actually here this time!" Lace grinned as a ramshackle building appeared. It leaned against a massive hill, as gray as the overcast sky, old boards bent and lilting like daisies in an oppressive summer heat. Fennec trails crisscrossed the face of the broad hill and a few ended on the top of the wooden hut where clumps of dirt sprouting tall grasses made perfect little hidey-holes. By the looks of it, the tavern didn’t seem large enough to fit Bull's horns, let alone all four of them.

“You sure about this, Tiptoes?”

“Would I lead you astray?” Lace replied.

So far the perky dwarf had yet to send them the wrong direction. Inha had every confidence in their scout, but was hardly prepared for the reveal. Upon opening the door, which creaked even in the rain, Inha felt the breath escape her lungs. The lean-to structure was just the entryway to a massive cavern. There were more people inside the bar then Inha had seen all day, weary common folk who were obviously trying to stay out of the war, the Inquisition’s way, and the rain. Turned over barrels served as stools and large cart wheels turned on their sides and layered with lumber boards acted as tables. Hands of Wicked Grace and scattered dice adorned most of the tabletops, along with dark ales and the dirty, cracked hands of hard workers. Lanterns kept the place dimly lit, enough to read the card faces and black-drawn dots on white dice.

“Did I ever tell you the one that started with three dwarves and a Qunari walked into a bar?” Varric mumbled. Bull smacked a giant hand on his back and ignored any tension in the room, bee-lining to the red headed bartender. “It doesn’t end well.”

But as soon as he began to gripe, a younger man sitting at the bar squinted as if the light wasn’t already too dim to make out a stranger at spitting distance.

“Is that you, Lacey?” He stood up and crept closer, ale spilling from his mug onto worn boots. Lace sighed softly. “It is you! By the Maker’s arse we’ve not seen you in a spell. Come say hi to old gang.”

Lace did her best to act pleased and joined her old acquaintance at the bar, leaving Varric and Inha together at the door with an apologetic shrug. No one was watching with any interest any longer. A table in the back corner opened up as a laughing couple disappeared behind the wall of the bar. She and Varric made their way over, Inha searching for Bull, who was the reason they'd come in the first place.

“Where did Bull get off to already?” Inha laughed, scanning the crowd as if he'd ever be able to hide.

“I think he's celebrating in the back already. You stay here, Inquisitor. I'll get the drinks.”

She plunked onto the bar stool, relieved to be sitting at last. Inha never expected to kill a dragon, but _nothing_ from the last sixth months could she have predicted. As if sensing unrest, the mark stirred in her palm, mildly agitated, still impossible to fathom. Dwarves shouldn't have magic in their hands. Knives, now that was a perfect fit. She took her favorite daggers out of her pocket to polish as she waited.

“Inha,” Lace said after a few quiet minutes. “Can you find your way back?”

“I think so. What's wrong?”

Her friend subtly tilted her head to the group at the bar. The young man she'd spoke to before was leading what looked like a drinking contest, several others cheering him on. “Too many _old_ _friends,”_ she said, implying they were no friends at all. “Better go before they make me join in.”

Inha smiled. “Say no more. I know the type.”

Varric came back with a round just as Lace was leaving, and set the extra ale between them on the table. “Too many fans?”

“Something like that.” Inha gripped the thick mug. “Do you ever get recognized? I saw the back of the copy of _Swords and Shields._ Its... very flattering.” 

He chuckled in that heartwarming Varric way; it always filled Inha with pleasure to make him laugh. “My editor made me do it. She says it helps sell copies; it's the chest hair.”

She grinned over her mug, eyeing the aforementioned goods. “You certainly know how to show it off!”

Varric was about to speak when a gruff cough behind them interrupted. They both turned to look at the disturbance. Inha stared down the end of a knife. Her own, somehow swiped from the table. She cursed herself for grinning like a fool moments before. How had a country bumpkin managed to pull one on her? Varric reached for Bianca, but she too was in the hands of a stranger.

“Well, shit.”

 

Her only solace was knowing that Varric had been distracted enough by her to get his weapon pilfered too. He protested at his bindings, wiggling next to her on the ground. The camp was muddy and dark with the moon's glow obstructed by the treetops. One small fire fought against the misty rain, and had not it been for Varric at her side, Inha would have frozen to death at least an hour ago.

“Stop moving so much,” she said. “You're not getting out of those -- it's a handcuff knot. Each time you pull it gets tighter.”

“How do you know so much about-- you know what, nevermind.” Varric stopped fighting. “You and Tiny, right?”

“What?” Inha coughed with surprise. “Why would you think that?”

Varric shrugged. “You're always at the tavern, we killed a dragon for no good reason today. I thought maybe you two were--”

Her cheeks grew red enough to match her hair. Not from embarrassment, but because Varric's oblivion was unbelievable. Could he really not tell she was interested in him?

“--the dragon has nothing to do with it. And I was hoping to find you there! I know you love telling stories and playing Wicked Grace.” For the very first time since they'd met, Varric had nothing to say. “You thought Bull and I were together and I let him walk off with the man behind the bar? Really, Varric?”

Before he could speak, he was interrupted again by one of their captors. If she had her weapons, she would have stabbed the man for that. Beyond anything else she wanted Varric to answer.

“Quit your arguing,” the bandit leader said, lazily waving one of her daggers their direction. “Squabble on your own time.”

The leader stuffed the dagger back in his belt and conferred with his fellows again. The sense she got was that these men were fairly new in their banditry or hardly successful at it, their coats and trousers tattered and worn, beards patchy and bellies thin. Their conversation was easily overheard, as if they had nothing to hide or no awareness.

A particularly tall bandit scratched his chin.“How much you think we'd get for her?” The group’s eyes flicked to Inha. They studied her hand, the mark actually placid for once.

The leader considered before answering with a young man’s bravado, “Inquisitor's probably worth ten thousand -- you’ve seen all those rifts.”

“And the other dwarf?”

“Don’t know he’s even worth the trouble,” another said, rubbing his arse where a few of Varric’s caltrops had left a mark. “Get rid of ‘im.”

So that was their intent, to ransom them back to Skyhold. Parts flattered for herself and worried for Varric, Inha couldn’t hold back. “But he’s an author of international acclaim!” Varric coughed and under his breath, whispered, “I don't think you’re making it better.” Inha elbowed him to be quiet. The bandits looked unsure of her claims, assessing Varric with the same calculative stares as they’d treated her with.

“You’re just saying that.” The man continued to rub his sore rear, glaring at Varric.

“No, you’ve certainly read his books -- _Hard in Hightown, The Tales of the Champion_? Those bestsellers were his! He’s likely worth more than me. They say his editor would do _anything_ for him.”

“We don’t read,” the leader said, though the skepticism was falling away fast.

And like that, a plan was forming in Inha’s mind. These bandits certainly appeared green, despite taking them unaware in the tavern. Something about their hurried eyes and sloping shoulders told her all that she needed to know, that and their apparent disregard for bestselling literature.

“I’m guessing,” she said, trying to phrase the question delicately, “you don’t have a lot of experience writing?”

“Hardly time for it--”

“Oh, of course not,” Inha replied quickly. “I’m not a writer either. But he,” she indicated to Varric with a tip of her head. “He’s had years of practice. How are you going to ransom us without a letter?”

A silent beat signified she had them there. “We hadn’t thought about that,” the leader said.

“I wouldn’t recommend you go marching up to the gate,” Inha said. “And a hastily passed message to one of our scouts will probably go ignored. Do you know how often people pretend to capture me?” They shook their heads. “Oh all the time, our ambassador gets notes every day,” she lied. “But a letter written by the Inquisition’s best known talent will be impossible to ignore, plus then they’ll know it is true coming from Varric Tethras.”

+++

Varric had to hand it to the Inquisitor, she was nearly as good at bullshitting as he was. Maybe it was her charm -- he could tell the boys that had captured them were a bit taken in. Her soft, warm voiced reasoned with ease, her tone was concerned, almost earnestly so. Varric was half convinced she actually wanted these damn Ferelden bandits to get everything they dreamed of out of this exchange. Maybe she felt for them. Each had that scraggly look of living lean on the road.

“He can’t write while his hands are bound,” she observed from her spot at the fire. She sat cross-legged, arms still tied, but now in front of her lap. 

The one who’d taken Bianca was now pushing him to sit on a log. Varric shrugged off the contact. No one had ever gotten the jump on him like this before. Bianca sat near the little prick’s pack. “You already have my weapon.”

His restraints were removed. Seeing as no one had thought out the plan, Varric pulled a bit of vellum from his inner vest pocket. Patting his chest, he realized he didn't have a quill or ink.

“I need one of the coals,” he said. “Get it damp and wrap it in something that won’t spark easily.”

Someone drew a coal out of the fire, another dipped a rag in water, then wound the coal a few times until it was tempered enough to handle. Varric set the vellum against a leg and pressed gently as to not rip his only piece of paper.  Varric began to write down a message to Ruffles. The group of bandits crowded around him to watch. Their leader stood in the worst possible place for a writer -- over Varric's shoulder. Even though the man couldn't read, Varric still felt creeping annoyance in his neck muscles, tensing up at the idea of someone reading while he was in the middle of something.

> _It pains me to admit it, but the Inquisitor and I have been taken for ransom by a surprisingly adept bunch of fools. Send for Tiptoes and tell her to bring the Chargers for effect. They look half starved to death, probably won't put up a fight if they get some food. Locals didn’t bat an eye either when they picked us up at the tavern._
> 
>  
> 
> _Don’t ever mention this to Hawke._

 The bandit leader poked the page with a smudging finger when Varric put the coal aside. “I know the symbol for sovereigns. There isn’t anything about our terms on here.”

“Fine, fine,” Varric conceded. “Everybody’s a critic.” 

> _Also, they want $10,000 for the Inquisitor. No one can seem to agree if I’m worth anything.”_

 By the time he’d finished and looked up, the leader had his hands above his head. Inha had broken free of her bindings and now held her own dagger at the man’s back. Someone reached for a weapon and the leader straightened up real tight like a knife was poking up his arse.

 _Maker's ass,_ Varric thought, further impressed.

“Don’t,” the bandit leader said, telling his men to stand down.

“Please listen,” Inha added. “I don't want to stab anyone tonight. I’ve had enough bloodshed for one day.”

“But I tied those myself,” another said. “How did you--”

His mouth fell open when Inha's mark sizzled in the dark. All the men groaned at once, annoyed that they hadn't thought about that. “I give you credit for trying,” she said cheerily. “It _was_ a very good job and I didn't realize it could do that until  just now.”

“So what do you want?” their leader asked bitterly. Inha dropped her dagger and slid it into its sheath at her side. The man looked over his shoulder in disbelief, dropping his hands.

“Now we talk,” she said.

 

Inha, Varric and her five new Inquisition recruits sat around a makeshift table in the tavern where they'd been taken hours before. Inha was buying and each of the men accepted eagerly, bent over a bowl of tavern stew, inhaling the slop. It turned out the Inquisitor had more surprises in her. With each passing moment she reminded him more and more of Hawke; Varric had wondered if the Inquisitor was really someone Thedas could look up to. Hawke had been more than a title and damn if he didn't hold everyone else up to those standards. It seemed after tonight that Inha Cadash was a damn hero, and not the self inflated kind, but one of the people.

After setting herself free, Inha had discovered the troupe had never run a scheme like that before. “We saw you killing the dragon, and it just set us off,” the leader had admitted. “We're starving and suffering and the Inquisitor isn't helping us. She's collecting dragon hide for her army and looking for the glory kill.”

Inha had bristled at that, clearly upset with the accusation. And so, twenty minutes later she’d convinced each and every one of their captors that the Inquisition was not only doing good for everyone in Thedas, but that they could do more for themselves and their families by joining. "If you can steal my daggers and precious Bianca without us noticing, imagine what else you can do for the Inquisiton!"

Varric drank his ale and considered the evening. It was a good story, one that would fit well in a book about the unbelievable shit they’d experienced so far, but it also perfectly illustrated the character of their leader. Inha was more than she appeared to be, and far more forgiving than even Hawke, the mother of the downtrodden. As each man ate his food and joked with their new leader, Inha glowed. Her wry smile lit up the place and her laugh was damn captivating. Varric couldn’t look away, surprised that he’d never considered her in that way before. For some reason he thought she was interested in Tiny. He shook his head over his drink. 

Inha saw his expression and leaned towards him. "You're disappointed?"

"Hardly. Someone's gotta look out for the downtrodden. All this magic and magisters shit is ridiculous. You could have locked them up or worse. But you didn't."

"I didn't," she repeated, grin widening further. They held eye contact until she had to look away; Varric felt a kindling of something too. It had been a long time since someone other than, well, he didn't want to think about her now.  A pink blush colored Inha's freckled cheeks. "Varric?"

"Yeah, Inquisitor?" 

"I'm not with Bull. Just so we're clear," she rushed. "We were kind of interrupted earlier and I just wanted to be clear. So you know."

He still couldn't believe he'd been so foolish to misjudge the situation. She'd been coming to the tavern all the damn time to see him. It was flattering, now that he understood. And void take him, he was suddenly very interested. Luckily by her nervous attempt to clear the air, he knew he wasn't too late.

"We're clear." He patted the seat next to him. "C'mon. Sit down and tell me more about Inha Cadash. Apparently, I've been a little blind about the finer points of our Inquisitor." 

"I thought you would've made a study of me this whole time. Write another book or something," she said. 

Varric chuckled. "After tonight you can guarantee it."

"I'm hoping its a romance," she teased, mirth twinkling in her green eyes. 

Booming laughter sprung out of the air. The pair turned to see Bull coming from the back rooms. He scanned the room with his one good eye, and upon spotting them sitting so close, roared his approval. "I knew it. You sorted things out. Good for you!" He winked at the bartender, who was blushing furiously. "Now, pour the Maraas-Lok! We have some celebrating to do!"

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I captured a bit of Inha's essence! What a lovely Quizzie!


End file.
